Simply: One Purple Violet
by NoChaser
Summary: Post 513: You can't live without a heart, I've heard, and my heart died one week ago today. Christmas Day, 2020. Hindsight is a cruel bitch. WARNING: Major Character Death Starts out sad. Ends up sad. But the middle is a joy to be seen.
1. Prologue

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."  
― Alice Walker, _The Color Purple_

**Simply: One Purple Violet**

**Prologue**

There were no hymns. No eulogies. No flowers. There wasn't even a photo of him set out so that we could honor him that way. He would have hated all that. He'd lived simply, modestly for the last ten years of his too short life.

Why change that in his death?

And now, there were fewer than a dozen of us here today to celebrate his life. Fewer than the number of men he could fuck in a week twenty years ago. But… that was twenty years ago. And he was a different man then. We both were.

Today is January 1, 2021. Our son and I chose this day to celebrate him so that we could bring him into this new year with us. Brian Kinney, my husband of five years, my lover for most of twenty, died of complications from AIDS one week ago today.

Fourteen years after we were both diagnosed with HIV.

Two years after he was first diagnosed with AIDS.

The doctors told us it was pneumonia. But I know he worked himself to death.

So now, I sit here in our small apartment in Bayonne, my eyes unable to see anything but the framed work on the wall above his desk. One of his first photographic projects – a small black vase holding a single purple violet, resting on a stark white background. He titled it 'Simply,' an homage to his philosophy on living. And dying.

Simply: one purple violet.

I wrap his favorite sweater around me as I listen to our good friends and small family sharing shocking memories and quaint anecdotes of the most magnificent being I've ever known. Smiling through my own death.

You can't live without a heart, I've heard, and my heart died one week ago today. Christmas Day, 2020. Hindsight is a cruel bitch.


	2. Fourteen years earlier

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it."  
― Alice Walker, _The Color Purple_

**Simply: One Purple Violet**

_**Fourteen years earlier**_

Brian stood at the great window of his loft, looking over the slush covered pavement below. The exhaust from passing cars had turned the slowly melting piles of accumulated snow into ugly black streaked messes. They looked about as clean as he felt. His hand shook and the cubes in the cut crystal glass he was holding clinked against the sides. His eyes closed against the damning reminder of his own fucking sins.

He let out a loud sardonic laugh as he angrily hurled the glass against the wall, watching the amber of bourbon stain the brick.

His own fucking sins.

His own _fucking_ sins.

Yeah. That was where the emphasis should be. _Fucking_.

Christ! They'd been right. Jack and Joanie had been right all along…he _was_ a total waste of life. And that was almost harder to accept than the words the doctor had solemnly spoken only hours ago.

_You are HIV positive, Mr. Kinney._

A little plus sign. That's what he would forever be now. A little plus sign at the end of an infamous acronym. Fucking doctor.

Brian turned his head and stared at the cellphone lying just beyond his reach. He'd actually laughed when the doctor had so seriously reminded him of his new ethical responsibility – contact all the sexual partners he'd had since his last blood test. Yeah, he'd laughed. Insanely.

_I think a few strategically placed billboards or a full page notice in OUT are more in order, doctor. _

His rules had served him well. Until now. No names, no numbers, no repeats.

Definitely billboards, doc.

He sighed heavily and stretched his body out to retrieve the small silver phone. He stared at the little box in his hand, his eyes wide and shining with fear and – regret. The Stud of Liberty Avenue may have had no fucking clue where to start with his onerous task. But Justin Taylor's lover – former lover – had an agonizing call to make.

_SOPV_

He'd found out yesterday and he still couldn't make the call. He wasn't sure if he ever would be able to. Justin pulled the heavy comforter around him shoulders a little more. It felt so much colder today, and New York was already the fucking coldest city he'd ever been in. Cold. Empty. At least it was now.

The noises outside the microscopic third floor walk-up he'd rented eight months ago mocked him. The city was alive. Didn't matter what day or time of day – this city was always awake and living and thriving. And now it was laughing at him. The city sounds that two days ago had warmed him like the sensuous beat of a salsa now chilled him. No more salsa. No more dancing. Only a dirge.

He had never been one to trick much. Not here, at least. There hadn't been time for that or money to spend on clubs. Oh, he'd picked up the occasional fuck, of course. And one of those fucks… Christ! One of those anonymous goddamned fucks…

_Mr. Taylor, I'm sorry to tell you that your tests result were positive._

He knew it before he had even reached the clinic door. He'd been through enough of these tests to know the routine, the protocol. They didn't call you back in unless there was a problem.

Of course he knew. But he still couldn't _believe_ it. Couldn't believe that he was never going to be able to be with a lover without a condom. That he was never going to have a child of his own someday. That he was most likely going to die long before he was old. Of course he knew the statistics that 'proved' it wasn't a death sentence anymore. Bullshit.

It was.

It killed a lot of dreams. A whole fucking lot of them.

Justin jumped when he felt the buzz of the phone vibrating in his hand. He'd been holding on to it for hours, trying to gather his nerve to make that one call he had never expected would be necessary. God, what a naïve little twat he was.

His heart stopped when he saw the caller ID on the display. Oh, christ…

For a brief moment he thought about just shutting the damned thing off. Changing his phone number and moving on somewhere. Anything so that he didn't have to face what he had hoped to put off… indefinitely.

To be a coward.

In the end he decided it was a sign. Now was the time.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I… I was about to call you."

"Yeah, well, now you don't have to."

"Brian… don't start. I need to talk with you."

"I need to talk with you, too, Sunshine."

Justin felt his heart tug at the nickname. Their last parting had not been easy. Three months. An eternity without him and still the sibilance of that name affected him when it rolled off of Brian's tongue. It was always sensuous. And today it was painfully so.

"Okay. But you have to let…"

"I'm positive, Justin."

Brian could actually feel the silence between them. It was palpable. He closed his eyes, visions of the disgust he knew would be playing out on Justin's face taunting him. It didn't matter how long they were apart or how wide the distance, or even how angrily they had separated – he would always love him. But they weren't lying when they said love was not enough. It really wasn't.

"You're… _positive_?"

"Yeah. I… you need to be tested, Justin. A precaution."

Justin's laughter took Brian completely by surprise. Justin was laughing at him and he died a little under the humiliation of it.

"When…" Justin paused to catch his breath. Oh, god, the irony! This was fucking cosmically priceless. Tragedy at its finest. "When did you find out?"

"Listen, Justin. I just called to let you know. Now you…"

"When did you fucking find out!" He wasn't laughing anymore.

"Today. Shit! A few hours ago. God… I'm so…"

"Don't you _dare_… don't you dare say you're sorry." Brian physically flinched at the pain in Justin's voice. It seemed that's all he ever did, cause this man pain. Fuck!

"You're so much more…" Justin continued. "I'm such a coward, Brian. I couldn't do it… couldn't make the call. I knew yesterday and I couldn't call you. God…"

"You knew yesterday? What… what did you know yesterday, Jus?" But he was afraid he already knew. _No… please. Just fucking no…_

"_I'm_ positive, Bri," Justin whispered. "I'm positive, too."

The phone slid from Brian's hands and he howled like an animal in pain. Anything…anything… god _anything_… not that.

_SOPV_

It had been three months since that fateful phone call. Brian and Justin had tried to keep in touch for a couple of weeks. But that one horrific new thing they had in common kept getting in the way. There was just too much guilt on both their parts to process and it cast a huge shadow over any lingering remnants of their relationship. Who infected who? They both knew that in the grand scheme of the universe it just didn't fucking matter, but neither of them could get past that haunting question.

"Christ, Justin. I don't think I can ever get over what I've done. I'm so fucking sorry."

Pain management sent Brian deep into the bottle. He couldn't fuck his way out of this problem, but he could sure as hell try to drink it away, and the alcohol always made him maudlin.

"Jesus, Brian. This isn't your fault! You've fucked more guys for more years… You've _always_ been so careful, Bri. This is _not_ your fault. I'm the one who can't forgive myself… Fuck!"

It wasn't blame for each other that ended them. Self blame, guilt and raw emotion ripped the last possibility of any relationship apart. The painful calls between them simply trickled off until it had been a month. Then two. And they stopped contact altogether. The disease had made its first kill.

Justin was slowly coming to terms with the fact of life as a positive man. He'd found a doctor who helped him locate financial assistance for the medications and tests. He'd followed the dietician's directions to the letter. He exercised religiously. Made sure he kept a tight rein on his daily routine. Right now, his viral load was down to undetectable. His immune system was working well. He could almost pretend that he was okay, that it had all been a ghastly joke. But it hadn't been. It was all too real. Every time he noticed a hot guy he felt the reality of it, and turned the other way. It had been a fucking long three months. Or a no-fucking long three months. Take your pick.

Luck was on his side in some ways, and he knew that. Justin was young and healthy to begin with. Those were points in his favor. And he had never been so glad to have moved away from Pittsburgh. No one really knew him here. He was just some nameless face in a vast sea of nameless faces. He hadn't become close enough to anyone for them to feel entitled to know his business – so unlike the family in the Pitts. So no one _had_ to know, or even cared enough _to_ know. Mixed blessings, he supposed. He hadn't yet told his mother or Daphne. They didn't need to know until they needed to know. He'd get around to it someday. Until then… well, he could still pretend to just be Justin – not _positive_ Justin. At least in public.

But Brian Kinney was a different matter.

Being a sex legend was a very large defining aspect of Brian's life. He fucked. A lot. And he was good at it. He had cultivated that image so well and for so long that his success in business and his life as a father were mere footnotes to most of the gay community. It didn't go unnoticed when he suddenly stopped visiting the backroom at his own club. And it didn't go untold when he began to make good on his newfound ethical responsibility.

The sex legend, the undisputed Stud of Liberty Avenue was positive. And it was a fucking _big_ _deal_. That bit of information spread like tender fed wildfire. Soon everyone at Babylon knew. Everyone at Kinnetik knew. He couldn't avoid hearing the whispers, seeing the pity or even the smug satisfaction in the eyes of so many.

The reputation that had defined Brian was now destroying him.

It had become nearly impossible for him to function. Brian always thought he could handle anything. Just put on a mask. This one, that one. Didn't matter which. Just put on a mask. In the wake of his diagnosis, of his admission to those sexual partners he could actually recall and locate, of his disappearance from the sexual scene, he found a new and painful reality. He had no mask for this. None.

The man who had chosen to predominantly identify himself through his sexual prowess simply couldn't exist anymore. And it was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. So he swallowed it down with a lot of bourbon.

The bottle became his new lover. A costly one.

Before long Brian stopped going to Babylon altogether. He simply couldn't step through the doors to that world he could no longer fully participate in. He had managers in place to handle the business end. He knew he wouldn't be missed.

On the days he was relatively sober he tried to handle Kinnetik. But seeing the slowly declining quality of Brian's work, the loss of his edge, the dimming of the fire in his eyes, Cynthia carefully began realigning Brian's workload. But as she worried about the business, she began to worry more and more about her boss and friend. Like everyone else she'd heard about the HIV, although not from Brian himself, and she was under no illusion about the extent of devastation Brian felt. She had to do something.

Not one word about his HIV had crossed Brian's lips to any of his friends or family, but they had heard the rumors. They were impossible to miss. But they wouldn't push him. Debbie and Michael sank into a sea of denial. Both had dealt with immense loss because of this dread scourge – Michael still dealt with it on a daily basis through his husband and son – and neither could face it this close to them again. So… they denied as long as they could.

They had no idea how soon the day of reckoning would arrive.

Cynthia stood outside the imposing building that held Brian's loft. She couldn't put off the confrontation any longer. She respected and loved this man. Her boss. Her friend. The man who had redefined advertising in this town. The man who had yet again failed to appear for a client presentation this morning without notice.

Brian hadn't answered the numerous calls she had made to him after his failure to appear at Kinnetik, and that alone had spurred the worry she felt as she approached the heavy metal door on the third floor. Her worry rose drastically when she saw the door cracked open. As she pulled the door, listening to the groans of the metal stressing under its own weight, as she entered the normally pristine room, the sight that met her brought her worry screamingly to a full panic.

She didn't scream as she saw him spread out on the floor in a pool of his own vomit and blood, liquor bottles and god knows what kind of pills spilled out beside him. She couldn't even breathe. She pulled her phone from her pocket mindlessly, automatically pressing the three buttons.

"Oh, god," she whispered when the call was answered. "Please… I need an ambulance."


End file.
